Can He Do It Again? : Personality: Fred Hayman, working alone, wants to top the success he had with the Giorgio fashion, fragrance empire.

From afar, it looks like it had one of those face-lifts that Beverly Hills is so famous for--the kind where you seem the same, only different.

Yes, the awnings, the topiary, the oak bar and the pool table of the old Giorgio at 273 North Rodeo Drive are still there, along with the photos of Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand and Elizabeth Taylor.

But come closer. See the new wrinkles.

The logo that used to be Giorgio’s familiar red and black crest is now the unfamiliar red and black signature of “Fred Hayman.” The distinctive color scheme that used to be sunny yellow and white is now a sophisticated solid yellow. The ubiquitous vase-shaped bottles of Giorgio perfume that used to cover the fragrance counter are now the little-known crystal pyramids of “273.” The young and oh-so-trendy “rich hippies” who used to loll in the aisles are now middle-aged and (dare you say it?) a bit matronly.

And a couple of tourists who wanted to buy Giorgio sweat shirts in bulk are now wondering if they’re in the right place.

“This isn’t Giorgio,” the puzzled wife whispers to her husband.

“Yeah,” he responds, “this place belongs to some guy named Fred.”

Almost on cue, they turn around and leave.

Told about the little scene later, the guy named Fred, a short man with a shock of white hair, can’t help but wince. For Fred Hayman, the multi-multimillionaire who founded the Giorgio fashion and fragrance empire, knows only too well that splitting up one of the world’s most successful retailing marriages, selling off Giorgio and starting over on his own has meant a lot more work than just a nip-and-tuck job on the store.

Maybe more work than a soon-to-be 65-year-old should want to take on. What’s he trying to prove--and to whom?

“There’s never been anyone who’s ever been No. 1 twice. And I’m going to be the first one in the business to do it,” pledges Hayman, whose unshakable faith in himself is as much a fixture of his year-old business as the 1952 Silver Wraithe Rolls-Royce parked outside (and recently repainted solid yellow).

“If I had his money, I wouldn’t bother,” confides friendly competitor Herb Fink, founder of Rodeo Drive’s Theodore stores. “But Fred has painted himself into a corner now where he has to work harder than ever before. I wouldn’t want to trade places with him. The stress has got to be astronomical.”

Fink pauses. “But, then, Fred’s not the kind of person who could ever retire.”

In fact, Hayman appears stunned that anyone would even dare to bring up the “R” word.

“Boring, boring, boring ,” he says huffily, a hard glint in his blue eyes. “No, I wouldn’t have a grand old time on Frank Sinatra Drive in Palm Springs or at my beach cottage in Malibu. I’d have a grand old time for maybe a week. But then what would I do? I don’t have any hobbies. I’d drive everyone around me crazy .

“I love to work. I love the business. I love the enormous opportunity and challenge.” And more than anything, he loves the store.

“I’m very thrilled to own this business totally by myself,” he says pointedly.

To understand why Hayman will travel 100,000 miles this year, spritzing perfume at strangers and stocking up on $5,000 sequined gowns that stars and socialites will wear once and then discard, it’s necessary to see where he has been already.

And that was bound to Gale Hayman, in marriage and in business.

Long before the War of the Trumps grabbed its first headline, the gurus of glamour--at least in the minds of many Southern Californians--were Gale and Fred Hayman.

Like Donald, he was social-climbing and shrewd. Like Ivana, she was sharp and chic. They, too, cultivated a public image as the “perfect couple.” And their divorce also brought down more than a marriage; it brought down a marketing phenomenon.

Together, 28 years ago, the one-time Beverly Hilton banquet manager and cocktail waitress transformed a struggling boutique called Giorgio into a household name, with the highest sales-per-square-foot of any store in the country and a world-renown fragrance. In the process, the Haymans racked up a rags-to-riches fortune and inspired Judith Krantz’s blockbuster novel “Scruples.” Their store starred in the TV miniseries. Their perfume, introduced in 1981, became so inescapable that a New York City restaurant banned it.

But on the road to success, their marriage bottomed out, starting in 1978 and ending in divorce five years later. Still, they were able to work together until both started claiming credit for the phenomenon that was Giorgio. That’s when things really turned ugly between them. In just one example, the locks on the doors of the Giorgio offices were changed to keep Gale out in 1985. In turn, she dressed him down in front of business associates.

For the next two years, the Haymans fought over custody of the business. Finally, stalemated and sick of each other, they sold Giorgio to Avon in 1987 for $165 million and divvied up the spoils. While Gale started a cosmetics company, Hayman bought back the store for $6 million.

Today, the once-inseparable Mr. and Mrs. Giorgio live separate lives, run separate companies and harbor separate resentments.

But so far Gale has been the only one to air them publicly, including 20 hours of interviews to Women’s Wear Daily Los Angeles bureau chief Steve Ginsberg for his just-published book “Reeking Havoc: The Unauthorized Story of Giorgio.”

But Hayman wouldn’t talk--until now.

Maybe it’s just coincidence, but the timing of this interview comes just as the two Haymans will be together again--that is, just as their signature perfumes will be together on swank store shelves. For Gale is introducing “Beverly Hills/Gale Hayman” in late April to compete for the affluent women who might be buying “273.” (Gale Hayman declined to be interviewed for this article on her former husband.)

“May the best man win. May we both win,” notes the ex-husband, displaying his model European manners (although his official biography describing Giorgio’s success doesn’t even mention Gale). Already, one retailer selling “273” has asked Hayman “if it was OK” to carry Gale’s perfume as well.

“I told him it would be restraint of trade if I said it’s not,” Hayman says, carefully navigating what could be a legal mine field.

“As long as the customers don’t think Fred Hayman is Gale Hayman or Gale Hayman is Fred Hayman. This is what’s important to Fred Hayman--that she does not ride my coattails or vice versa. I will do everything to separate us, just as I’m doing everything possible not to be Mr. Giorgio any more.”

Clearly, it’s like pulling teeth to get him to recount the way they were.

“I hate to talk about that. It was the ugliest experience in life.

“But there may never be another couple as great as we were. Or a store as great as Giorgio was,” Hayman continues. “And there’s a lesson in this for whomever may read what you print. That power and greed does strange things to people, that too much ego and too little loyalty are disgusting things, and that all of this comes out just when you have something very successful. It’s really a damn shame, to be honest with you.”

Working alone now, Hayman is hoping that lightning will strike twice. But it’s a different time. And a different retailing climate.

Where once that corner where Rodeo Drive meets Wilshire Boulevard was the trend-setting capital of Southern California, maybe even the world, now that honor is accorded Melrose. Where once the Haymans secured exclusives on relatively unknown designers like Halston and Giorgio di Sant’ Angelo, today many of the big names have their own stores. Where once the marketing of Giorgio by direct mail and scent strips was unheard-of, now the practice is commonplace. And where once launching a new perfume was seen as a rare event, today the proliferation of fragrances from every Tom, Dick and Cher is no more exciting than the opening of a mini-mall.

Even Hayman acknowledges there is probably no way that Fred Hayman will ever be le dernier cri in fashionableness that Giorgio was. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be successful.

“Somebody just at lunch the other day said to me, ‘You know, it was so much fun --that little store and all the hot new things that you had. Why can’t you have that today?’ And I told her nobody can have that today. It just doesn’t exist any more. Times change. That’s the reality.”

Suzanne Pleshette, who was one of Giorgio’s first and best customers, believes that attitude is why Hayman is such a “clever merchandiser. Today a lot of the people who were wearing trendy clothes then are more conservative now. We still remain Fred’s customers, but our needs are different. If he hadn’t changed, he’d have been foolish.”

And while the store may never be Madonna’s, or Kim Basinger’s, or Michelle Pfeiffer’s favorite place to shop, Fred Hayman last year had $2,500 in sales per square foot, according to its own figures, better even than the $2,000 in sales per square foot that Giorgio enjoyed during its 1987 salad days.

But the question remains: For how long? Especially as other top-drawer stores--Amen Wardy of Newport Beach and Barney’s of New York, to name two--move into Beverly Hills. “Every time I’ve talked to Fred in the last six months, he’s bad-mouthed his apparel business,” says Women’s Wear Daily’s Ginsberg. “It’s been tough for him. There’s a lot more competition for Fred’s-type merchandise in the last five years. I’m sure he’s lost some business.”

When Hayman’s contract with Avon dictated that he give up the Giorgio name and signature stripes, he gave the store his own moniker but kept the yellow--not just because it recalls the old Giorgio, but because “it’s California, it’s Beverly Hills, it’s happy. Yellow is simply what we are.”

He also started advertising heavily and looking for new avenues of publicity. For the second straight year, he sought and secured his selection as fashion coordinator for the Academy Awards, a rather thankless task but very high-profile within the entertainment and retailing industries. For one thing, it ensures that the biggest names in Hollywood--especially those younger actors and actresses who might not remember Giorgio’s heyday--will at least walk into Hayman’s store.

That sort of marketing savvy also dictated that Hayman introduce “273” at “the party to end all parties” in January, 1989. Held on the “Phantom of the Opera” set at Universal Studios and catered by L.A.’s top restaurants, it attracted 1,000 A-list guests most of whom, as producer Allan Carr decreed, “hadn’t been to a party for a perfume since Coco Chanel died.”

As a result, Hayman’s gardenia scent has been a sensation. In just its first year, “273” boasted $5 million in sales through the boutique and direct mail. That’s considered a strong debut despite its limited distribution, and 3.5 times better than Giorgio in the same time period. With “273” at 273 perfume counters eventually (selected Saks Fifth Avenue, Nordstrom, Bullock’s, Robinson’s, I. Magnin, Macy’s, Neiman-Marcus, Filene’s and Marshall Fields among other stores), sales figures are projected to top $40 million by the end of 1990. Another bright spot on Hayman’s horizon is the “Fred Hayman” line of handbags, leather goods and luggage that began selling in the boutique last April and expands to Neiman-Marcus this year. According to Women’s Wear Daily, the line rang up sales of $50,000 in the first two weeks and could hit $2 million by year’s end.

I don’t want to sound egotistical,” Hayman boasts, “but I do have a certain style and taste level that never changes. And that is Fred Hayman.”

Dating as far back, perhaps, as the cradle. Born on May 29, 1925, in the Swiss textile town of St. Gallen, Hayman was 4 years old when his father died of a heart attack. A year later, his mother married Julius Hayman, a prosperous silk importer.

While his mother was “very much into manners,” his stepfather provided a comfortable life style. But that life was torn apart in 1941 when, like many Jewish families in Europe, the Haymans fled the threat of Nazism and immigrated to New York City.

Hayman wanted to be a chef, but his parents wanted him to go to college. “They had higher ambitions. I wanted to prove to them that you don’t have to go to a lot of schools to be successful. And wherever I went I tried to excel.”

He was hired by the prestigious Waldorf-Astoria Hotel where he rose from apprentice cook to banquet manager. In 1943, Conrad Hilton personally sent him to his new hotel, the Beverly Hilton. Always fascinated by glamour and wealth, Hayman found Beverly Hills to be exciting, but also “terribly backward. I brought with me a whole new standard of French service.”

Hayman became known for his taste and style, as well as for his driving ambition. After stints at the Ambassador Hotel, and then a downtown L.A. restaurant, Hayman was looking to buy a restaurant. Along the way, he married twice and had three children. It was while married to his second wife that Hayman hired a new cocktail waitress at the Beverly Hilton, 19-year-old Gale Gardner Miller. “She was a hot-looking dame then. Still is,” Hayman says with a wink. “I haven’t seen her, but I know she is.”

In 1963, Hayman divorced his wife and three years later married Gale. He was 41 and she was 23, and they went into business together at a small Beverly Hills clothing store called Giorgio in which Hayman had been a silent partner. No task was too menial for him in those days: clipping the hedges, washing the windows, cleaning the chandeliers.

This time around, however, Hayman has the luxury of starting out as a superstar. That means delegating to others responsibilities he might have taken on himself before.

On a typical day, he arrives at his office at 9 a.m., leaves by 5 p.m., has a massage every evening (talking on the phone all the while) and spends a quiet evening at his Beverly Hills home with his girlfriend Betty Endo, a petite Japanese-American who was Clint Eastwood’s secretary before she began dating Hayman 12 years ago.

On Saturday afternoons, like clockwork, he heads out to his Malibu beach cottage, if that’s what you can call the 4,500-square-foot Point Dume home he owns next to Johnny Carson. He also maintains a second house a brisk 20-minute walk away that he keeps for entertaining because of its pool, spa, tennis court and formal dining room.

It’s life in the lap of luxury. But he’ll keep on working, bringing out a second fragrance soon, expanding his line of accessories, maybe writing his autobiography. Anything else?

“It’ll blow your mind if I tell you,” he teases. “I will open a department store unlike anything that’s ever been opened. I’m not going to tell you how it’s going to be. But I hope I will have the time to do it. That department store would be the last thing I would do that’s grand and special and different and conversational and successful.”

The hard glint in his blue eyes dares the world to think otherwise.

“And more fun that just being all day at the damned beach house!”